Royal Scenes from the Empire City: The Prince of Wales in Wellington, 5-8 May 1920

Turnbull Library Record, Volume 42, 1 January 2009, Page 13

Royal Scenes from the Empire City: The Prince of Wales in Wellington, 5-8 May 1920

DAVID COLQUHOUN

In the early autumn of 1920, the Prince of Wales spent three days in Wellington - the self-styled 'Empire City' of the South Pacific. 1 He was midway through a 28-day visit to New Zealand, itself a prelude and rehearsal for a longer tour of Australia. The previous year he had been sent off on his first royal tour, to Canada. The following year he went to India. By 1925, nearly every dominion and colony of the Empire had experienced the royal visit.

The Prince's imperial progress through Wellington makes for an entertaining story about how much we wanted to be liked by this famous visitor, the spectacle we put on for him, and what he really thought of us. The story is also revealing about New Zealand in the immediate aftermath of the First World War, and about how New Zealanders saw the monarchy, the Empire, and themselves.

In the settler dominions these tours were affairs of great pomp and ceremony. The Prince arrived at every port in his personal, especially assigned battle cruiser, the Renown , one of the newest of its kind and bigger than anything onlookers had seen before. Royal trains carried him and his entourage of advisors, courtiers and servants to inland cities and towns. He inspected troops, gave out medals, listened to speeches, received illuminated addresses and replied to them, watched children's demonstrations, and attended concerts, balls, dinners and civic receptions. Everywhere crowds lined the streets hoping for a glimpse or a royal wave. Local newspapers gave loyal and detailed coverage, while approved journalists accompanying the tour fed triumphant stories of the Prince's progress back to their British readers.

On the face of it the tours were to thank the dominions for the wartime loyalty that had left so many dead or maimed at Gallipoli and the Western Front. Beneath that, though, was a deeper political purpose. The British Empire now extended further than ever before, but to Empire believers the world seemed a more uncertain place. Russia had fallen to the Bolsheviks. Elsewhere, new socialist labour movements were extolling ties of class, not empire. From Ireland to India and beyond, nationalist movements were challenging the imperial right to rule. Even the loyal dominions were beginning to assert their independence in foreign policy. The Empire was eventually unravelled by world depression, another world war and new economic rivalries, but, with hindsight, the strains were evident much earlier. To loyalists in 1920, however, there seemed nothing that could not be fixed by more and better imperial propaganda. And a world tour by a popular Prince was a very good way to spread it.

Edward, the Prince of Wales, is best known for becoming King in 1936 and abdicating 11 months later to marry his twice-divorced American girlfriend, Mrs Simpson. It remains the most written-about episode of twentieth-century royal history. In 1920, however, that was all unimagined. He was 26, more interested in a playboy lifestyle than civic duty, and prone to depressive moods and intense self-pity. But to the royal sympathisers amongst his father's subjects he was seen as the ultimate in good looks, fashion, charm and unsnobbish informality. That was partly a myth put about by a sycophantic press keen to turn him into one of the first modern celebrities, but there was some truth in it. The public duties he carried out in the 1920 s were far more demanding than anything any other modern royal had done, and he carried them out with considerable success. 2

However, he seldom enjoyed these royal tasks and he particularly disliked the Empire tours. We know this because he wrote long, unhappy letters back to his lover of that time, Freda Dudley Ward, telling her all about his princely daily grind. 3 As an expression of how he really felt they do have to be read critically, for they were usually written late at night when he was at his most maudlin, and were always going to tell her how unbearable life was without her, but they are a very rich source. Royal tours always leave behind a trove of documentary evidence for the historian. Seldom, though, has there been such a detailed and frank account of what the central character really thought.

Talk of a tour had begun as the First World War neared its end. In early 1918 George V gave a speech at a conference of Dominion prime ministers, referring to the 'happy memories' of his own imperial tour of 1901 and how he looked forward to 'when the Prince of Wales may be able to visit the distant parts of my

Dominions beyond the seas. I know that the desire to do so lies near his heart.' 4 It didn't, but the Prince had little say in the matter.

In charge of political arrangements on both the Canadian and Australasian tours was Edward Grigg, the Prince's Military Secretary. Grigg was a former Colonial Editor for the Times, later Governor of Kenya, and highly regarded as a thinker and writer about the modern Empire. 5 It was he who set the political themes of the tours, wrote the Prince's speeches, and spin-doctored the press. Those themes were set out in a lengthy memorandum written just before the Canadian visit. While the Prince's main role, Grigg wrote, was 'to create an atmosphere ... largely by natural tact and charm,' it was very important that his speeches should also be 'directed to showing his appreciation of the political institutions of the Empire and of the vital place which the Crown takes as the nodus of the whole web.' Eie went into great detail about how that would be done. 6

Putting new imperial theory into practice was not always easy. On the Canadian tour Grigg had to work through the Prince's Chief of Staff, Admiral Lionel Halsey, Commander of the Renown, and a favourite of the Prince. It was an unsatisfactory arrangement. Halsey, reported the Colonial Office Undersecretary after the Canadian tour, 'either ignores or is unable to understand the political factors involved at every turn.' 7 Before they all set off for New Zealand, Grigg threatened to resign if he was not given complete authority over tour arrangements. The Prince resisted and the mini-crisis was only resolved by a meeting at Downing Street, where the Prince was forced to back down. 8 He did not forgive Grigg, and his dislike intensified as the tour proceeded. Negotiations with the New Zealand Government were also sometimes difficult. These had to be done through the medium of the Governor-General, Lord Liverpool, who was, even by vice-regal standards, a pompous individual.

Particularly upsetting to Liverpool were the precedence rules insisted on by the King which meant he would not accompany the Prince on most of the tour. He was about to finish his term and wanted to share in the royal glory. 10 There were other tensions too. Prime Minister Massey, for example, was unhappy about the number of overseas journalists who were coming, Grigg had to insist that 'their attendance is very important in view of the imperial significance of the tour.' 11 Favourable and frequent coverage in London-based newspapers was a key part of his strategy.

But he could do little to limit the extremely full programme presented to the Royal Party in Fiji just a week before they arrived in Auckland. Early on, Grigg had urged against 'overloading/ as 'the experience gained during the Canadian visit indicates that these tours must impose a tremendous strain on His Royal Highness.' 12 But for Massey, royal stops in as many Reform Party heartlands as possible was a political opportunity too good to compromise. Soon the itinerary included 50 towns between Auckland and Invercargill, as well as a large Maori meeting and performance at Rotorua, and a very full programme for the several days spent in each of the main cities. 'I cannot understand,' reported Grigg, 'how Lord Liverpool came to ignore HRH's instructions so completely ... I have never seen such proposals in all my life.' 13 After his first day in Auckland the Prince exclaimed to Freda:

The mere thought of the programme they insist on my carrying out is staggering as we really are in for a bloody awful month angel & Christ only knows how far gone towards insanity we'll all be at the end of it when we go to Australia!! 14 By the end of the Australasian tour he was indeed showing symptoms of severe nervous breakdown. 15

In Wellington, anticipation mounted as the Prince approached via the West Indies, Panama Canal, San Diego and the Pacific, and landed at Auckland. From then on there was daily coverage in the local papers of everything the Prince did - his Auckland welcome, the Maori gathering at Rotorua, the railway strike that briefly threatened to halt the inland tour, and his subsequent progress through the small towns of the North Island.

For weeks beforehand the papers also gave detailed updates on Wellington's own preparations - as committees set about organising civic receptions, demonstrations, pageants, balls and other entertainments. The progress of the city's street decorations became particularly fraught as the Prince's arrival drew near. It was an ambitious plan - along every route were masts decorated with

plaster shields, greenery and bunting. Unfortunately, just a few days before the Prince arrived, a southerly hit. The shields, the Dominion reported sadly, 'broke in two at the nail holes, to become pitiable wrecks in a few minutes.' 16 Then, the two-day delay caused by the railway strike began to take its toll on the foliage. The Evening Post tried to make the best of it: 'The greenery will not be so green, but its autumn tints may remind the Prince of his homeland.' 17

The southerly faded the day the Prince was due, and it stayed fine and calm for his whole stay. He was to arrive in the late evening, after a very full day of ceremonies and speeches along the train line between Napier and Wellington. As a lead-up, the Renown sailed into Wellington Harbour in the afternoon. School children lined Oriental Bay, hurrahing and waving Union Jack flags as soon as the big ship slowly made its way around Point Halswell towards King's Wharf.

By dusk, crowds were gathering in the city. Some had been doing last-minute shopping (shops were to close for the two days of the visit) or inspecting the newly unfurled decorations. Others looked for the best vantage points to see the procession. Seven brass bands took up their positions along the route. There were to be no lulls in the patriotic martial music as the royal procession made its way up Lambton Quay, then Willis, Manners, Cuba and Vivian Streets to Kent Terrace and on to Government House.

At 6.30 p.m. the illuminations were turned on. Illuminated buildings were not new - they had been a feature of the 1901 tour, and were a normal civic extravaganza for imperial cities of this time - but Wellington had not seen lighting quite as ambitious as this before. Red, white and blue lights lit up Parliament and the government offices. The Public Trust building was topped with a huge multi-coloured crown, and the post office featured an imperial star and the words 'Te Atua Manakitia Te Piriniha.' Further up Lambton Quay, Kirkcaldie & Stains featured place names from imperial history, and in Willis Street the building shared by the Evening Post and the right-wing Protestant Political Association was lit up by a Union Jack and a huge 'Loyal Greetings'.

The biggest crowd was at the railway station, waiting expectantly for the royal train. At 7.30 it arrived. After being greeted by the Prime Minister and Mayor the Prince stepped out into the square, waved, and got into the leading car, with Admiral Halsey by his side. The crowd cheered and the Tramways band struck up with 'God Bless the Prince of Wales'. Other cars drew up for the rest of the party, and they all moved off in orderly procession.

It was not orderly for long. Those outside the station were not content with one short glimpse and turned en masse to follow, bottle-necking into Lambton

Quay, joining those already there. The crowd was soon so dense the Prince's car was slowed to walking pace. As he passed, spectators peeled off to rush along the side-streets and join up again further along the route, adding to the crush. The police gave up trying to clear a way and concentrated on keeping people from jumping on the running board.

They could do nothing about the cars behind, though. In one of them was Louis Mountbatten, cousin of the Prince and later to be the last Viceroy of India. He had been brought on the tour as a companion to the Prince, to try and keep him cheerful. One of his tasks was to keep the tour diary, and in it he wrote how 'twenty or thirty people' crowded onto the following cars, all the way up to Government House. When one woman fell running between the cars, the 'chauffeur put his gear in reverse in a desperate attempt to save the woman, and the car leapt back on to the fifth car, crushing the leg of a boy who was sitting on the bonnet .... The boy was removed, still cheering.' 18 Because the cars were going very slowly no-one seems to have been badly hurt.

At the front of the procession the Prince was now standing, hatless, waving and smiling, soon covered in confetti, with Halsey clutching his coat tails to keep him steady. An almost full moon and the light of the illuminations meant he seldom disappeared into the darkness, and as he entered Manners Street a searchlight picked him out until he turned up Cuba Street. By the time he got to Kent Terrace the crowd had thinned a little. In all, it took an hour to get from the railway station to Government House.

The Wellington confetti-throwers started a trend, soon followed by other crowds as the tour moved south. A few days later, on the eve of the Prince's arrival on the West Coast, a local newspaper published a letter from Wellington urging confetti restraint. It was, the writer said, inconvenient for the Prince 'to sit through an official luncheon with confetti making its way down the back of his neck.' Furthermore, some people 'threw the boxes as well and sometimes they hit the Prince in the face.' But there were other missiles to worry about. Partway through the Australian leg of the tour Halsey wrote in a letter:

[T]he people, in their excitement, throw all sorts of things into the car, and they do hurthunches offlowers are all right hut when it comes to chocolate bars and fruit and parcels of all sorts it gets very dangerous - even coins are thrown which hurt horribly sometimes. 20

He was referring mainly to the Australians, but New Zealanders were not much more restrained, although perhaps they had more sartorial taste. The dapper Prince was known for his walking canes, and the West Coast's Wellington correspondent noted that 'quite a number of people have thrown their walking sticks into the Prince's car.' One was even 'broken upon Admiral Halsey's head.' By the time the

Prince's car had reached Government House, the correspondent continued, 'there were sixteen walking sticks in it.' 21

No other town had shown quite such enthusiasm. Despite the rowdiness, this was just the sort of joyous celebration the Colonial Office and Massey's government wanted. The next day the editorials of the Dominion and the Evening Post gushed with pride. Even the Prince was impressed: 'we had a most marvellous welcome here in the capital of the Dominion', he told Freda, 'the crowds were so dense that I had to stand up in the car the whole way!! It really was marvellous & for once I was gratified & felt quite the cheap little hero!!' 22

For the next two days royal mania ruled the city. Everywhere the Prince went, cheering crowds lined the streets, often spilling onto the road and delaying the Prince's arrival at his next event. Every hotel, hostel and boarding house was full with out-of-town visitors. The Evening Post reported that at night:

[T]he spirit of holiday and carnival was about, and the uniforms of soldiers, cadets, sailors from the Renown, were mingled with the mufti of the citizen and his folk in noisy fellowship. Through the pressing throng ... drove an almost continuous procession of motors, many filled with families from the country doing the city and its illuminations. Blowing of horns and barking of klaxons added to the din.

The party mood was sometimes at odds with the more sombre commemoration of war that was the official focus of the visit. Grigg had early-on emphasised that the main purpose was for the Prince to meet and thank as many New Zealanders, and particularly as many returned servicemen (and nurses), as possible - there was to be no sightseeing or laying of foundation stones on this visit. 24 What that meant was that at every stop, however brief, there was usually a military review of some kind, and the Army Department went to great lengths to establish the rules and programme for these. The government provided free train travel to ensure that every ex-soldier could attend.

These reviews, and the civic receptions that were another key ceremony of the tour, meant that the Prince had shaken well over 20,000 hands by the time he left New Zealand. 25 In Canada, such handshaking marathons had left him so bruised he had to give up using his right hand and use his left instead. In New Zealand, the military authorities sought to prevent further injury by asking that soldiers not 'display their physical strength unduly in order to express their loyalty.' 26 But by then it was too late. After the strain of shaking more than 3,000 hands at the Auckland civic reception, the Prince had already reverted to his earlier defence against hearty masculinity, and used the limp left-handshake for the rest of his New Zealand tour. 27

The commitment to acknowledging the returned soldiers meant meeting most of the 1,500 seriously wounded or ill still recovering in military hospitals around the country - in Wellington, the Prince's party visited the hospital at Trentham. There was also a formal meeting with the politically powerful Returned Servicemen's Association executive at Parliament, which presented the Prince with a life membership. As the Prince commented later, while touring the West Coast, 'the most important item of this trip are the returned men & all would be over if I got wrong with them!!'

The Wellington military review was at Newtown Park, and it followed the same pattern of the reviews in every city and town. More than 35,000 people watched as the lines of military waited for the Prince. He was late because of the crowds in the streets, but as soon as he got there the royal salute was played and the veterans, soldiers and nurses filed past for the handshake. Then he presented medals and other decorations, before making his walk of inspection along the assembled ranks. By then, however, formality was being undermined. Tiers of seating built for the dignitaries began to collapse - 'sideways one after the other like a row of dominoes', was how Mountbatten described it. 28 Luckily, only pride was hurt. Meanwhile, the spectators were crowding onto the parade ground to be nearer the Prince. Some threw confetti - 'an objectionable practice for a military review,' lamented the officer in charge. 29

School children's parades were the other central ceremony of the tour. Everywhere he went, the Prince was greeted by well-drilled but very excited children waving flags, saluting and singing patriotic songs. The government had arranged for free train travel for schools throughout the country, gave out 100,000 small Union Jack flags, and promised a school holiday in honour of the Prince. A high standard was set by the first big demonstration, in the Auckland Domain, where the children formed up to spell out 'Welcome' as the Prince arrived, then entertained him with mass physical exercises, before reforming into a giant Union Jack - the 'living flag'.

The Wellington children's demonstration was in the more cramped Parliament grounds, with no such opportunities for choreography. Instead, large banners were painted for each school and 'banner rehearsals' were held in the preceding week. On the day, the 10,000 children taking part assembled in six columns at different points in the streets around Thorndon, and were then marched into position. The Renown band played beforehand, and a massed choir on Parliament steps sang as the Prince arrived. As he walked past the children, they stood to attention and saluted with great enthusiasm.

The Prince was halfway through New Zealand by now, and not enjoying himself. It was while in Wellington he wrote: Tt is a rotten way of seeing a fine country ... Returned soldiers & shrieking people & school children are all that I shall remember of my visit.' The evening balls and other functions were even less appealing. 'Half the men,' he complained to Freda, 'are overflowing with Scotch at most of the places I've been to celebrating my visit,' and the women 'get on my nerves & none of them can dance for nuts or hardly any.' 30 At least he did not find Wellington quite as far removed from London style as he did Nelson, a few days later. After returning from the ball there he wrote in his late-night lines to Freda:

[I have] just returned from the most pricelessly funny party that one could imagine. There wasn't a single woman who had the least idea how to dance & the 'squeejee band' & the floor & everything tho. we stuck it out like heroes till the supper & tried to lug those wads of ham faced women around although we were all feeling very weary & thoroughly peeved. 31

In Wellington, the Prince stayed at Government House. Built in 1910, it was grand, modern and commodious by New Zealand standards - an improvement, as far as the Prince was concerned, on what had gone before. At the Imperial Hotel in Wanganui, for example, two nights earlier, he had complained that 'its really a miserable hole: no electric light & the hotel boilers elected to burst before dinner so no baths & a vewy nasty dinner!!' 32

But Government House had one great disadvantage - Governor-General Liverpool himself. From their first meeting in Auckland the Prince disliked him and his wife Countess Annette. The Liverpools, he told Freda, 'are the absolute limit ... he is too hopelessly pompous and impossible for words while she is so shy that she hardly ever utters & I've given up even trying to make conversation.' 33

The two did find one thing in common: they both played squash. The Prince was a compulsive exerciser and always enjoyed a game on the Renown's squash court, where he usually managed to beat his staff. During a break in the hectic Auckland programme he took Liverpool on board for a game, and was surprised to find the older man was quite a skilful player. However, he boasted, T had him pretty cold as he is so grossly fat.' He had been pleased to hear that the Governor had his own court at Government House and wrote that 'I hope to give him hell next week!!' 34

Unfortunately, the squash court at Government House was a different size, and Liverpool knew how to work the angles. He won, despite his fatness. Then, before the Prince left for the South Island, they played again and the Prince glumly reported, Tm ashamed to say that absolutely revolting little man "liver" knocked me again, tho not badly.' 35

The defeats did not help his darkening mood. That same day Liverpool and the Prince posed for an official photograph with their respective staff. Few other photographs have shown the Prince so sullen and resentful. It was about then that he told Freda:

I'm writing home to old H.M. by this mail & telling him all about Their Ex's & how unpopular they are out here & how they've done their best to botch this tour; they really are too intolerable for words & besides being (4 letters!!) he's a liar & a cheat at any games , cards golf & everything . 36

After Wellington there were several more nights of small-town discomfort - from Reefton he wrote that he was 'more or less "roughing" it now as these little country hotels are far from comfy & vewy cold & there generally is'nt any hot water & so no baths which does'nt exactly cheer us up!!' But the upper classes of Christchurch finally made him feel more at home. There he finally found some compatible dinner companions, rode in a hunt (for hares, not foxes), and enjoyed a day at the races. And for accommodation his party had exclusive use of the Christchurch Club. It had its own squash court - and Liverpool wasn't there.

The political centrepiece of the whole tour was a formal luncheon at Parliament. More than 150 of the country's political, judicial and military leaders - all men - attended. Notably absent were any Labour Party MPs. This was to be a meeting of like minds: the Prince's imperial party and the Conservative political establishment of New Zealand.

Old Government House, where the Beehive is now, had been smartened up for the occasion, with new red carpet in the old ballroom, copious foliage, and royal portraits on display. The highlight, though, was the Bellamy's lunch, proudly announced as being entirely from New Zealand produce. For starters there were oysters, toheroa soup and fillet of sole, followed by sirloin, roast wild duck, Queen Mary pudding, macedoine of fruits, mushrooms on toast, then more desserts and coffee. The food was local, but the wine wasn't, and the hovering wine waiters offered champagne (part of the 100-dozen bottles Liverpool had ordered for the tour), sauternes, sherry and port. 37

It was a fine repast, although it is unlikely that the Prince enjoyed it. He was always rather anorexic in his eating habits, and now he was worried about his speech. He hadn't had to write it, of course - that was Grigg's job - but Grigg had only given him the draft the night before they got to Wellington, and there had not been much time to write it out and learn it. 'l've got the wind up worse than usual sweetie,' he wrote to Freda, 'as I've got so little time to prepare it tho. that's Grigg's fault curse him!!' 38

After the meal Liverpool toasted the King, the national anthem was sung, the Prince nervously lit a cigarette, and Prime Minister Massey rose to speak. Few colonial politicians were as deeply committed to the Empire, and this speech was a fine statement of imperial sentiments. The war, he said, had been 'the most dreadful scourge,' but 'even war is not an unmixed evil,' because now:

[T]he Empire is more solidly united to-day than ever in the past - (Applause) - united

under one King, one throne, one flag - (Applause) - united with one ideal, one Empire, and for a common destiny, working for the safety and security of the citizens of the Empire and at the same time for the welfare of humanity.

The Empire's example and influence was the answer to 'unrest in every quarter of the world.' 'I for one,' Massey enthused, 'believe that the good old British common sense will prevail in the end, and that we will be able to adjust our country and our empire to varying circumstances as they come along.' There was much more - all stirring stuff for this audience, who thanked him with loud applause and cheers. 39

Then it was the Prince's turn. He hardly looked up from his notes, and his nervousness was obvious, but those there were thrilled just to hear him. 'His words and ideas were that of a man,' the Evening Post loyally reported, 'and his voice was that of a trained speaker - clear, well-produced and well-modulated. He was heard distinctly in every part of the hall.' 40 Afterwards the Prince wrote, 'people seemed quite pleased & say it was a success tho. I need hardly tell you I was handing out Grigg's dope as usual.' 41

The speech followed the same pattern of those he had given in Canada, and was to give in Australia. 42 He praised everything he had seen - 'your towns, your harbours, your roads, and railways, your millions of acres of agricultural and pastoral land ... I am amazed at what you and only one generation before you have achieved.' He thanked the returned soldiers and veterans, praised the women who helped with war work, offered condolences for 'all the big blanks made in so many homes by the death of so many of New Zealand's gallant sons,' and said how impressed he was by the 'splendid training and discipline' of the school children, who 'will know how to serve their country in peacetime ... and at the same time be ready to maintain the Empire and its great traditions of the past.'

These were hard and difficult times, he concluded. They needed the 'steadiness and firmness' that came from being British, and there was no country 'more stolidly and unrepentantly British than ... New Zealand.' Nothing, he concluded to loud and continued applause, 'can ever really go wrong with our British Empire if we keep our British temper and British ideals.' 43

Lines of soldiers, cheering school children, loyal speeches, balls and receptions, illuminations and parades - these were all standard fare for the Prince as he travelled through the Empire. There were two items on the itinerary, though, where New Zealanders showed off what they thought was different about themselves. The most significant of these was the Maori reception and performance at Rotorua. It was by far the most widely reported, filmed and photographed event of the tour.

The other event that sought to show the Prince something uniquely New Zealand was a very Wellington one - a pageant of colonial history on the Petone foreshore. It was never going to get as much media attention as the massed haka at Arawa Park, but it might have got more had it not ended in chaos and confusion. 44

To earlier New Zealand settlers, history was about the places they came from, but that was changing by 1920. In the old New Zealand Company towns, historical societies were being formed, all keen to commemorate the first European arrivals. Libraries and museums were starting to show interest in history collecting, and historians like Robert McNab, Lindsay Buick and James Cowan had begun to write books about New Zealand's own colonial past.

In Wellington an Early Settlers' and Historical Association had been formed in 1912 and it now had a new, keen, post-war committee. The Petone pageant was their idea - a re-enactment of the important moments, as they saw them, of New Zealand history, on the foreshore where the first Wellington colonists had landed just over 80 years earlier. The Prince would watch as Maori, the first arrivals, came ashore (on two canoes borrowed from the Dominion Museum), followed by Captain Cook and his officers with the British flag. Next would come a group of black-clad missionaries. Finally, all the other members of the Historical Association would arrive dressed in costumes of 1839, led by Colonel Wakefield. Overlooking all would be a live tableau featuring a local schoolgirl dressed as Britannia. Finally, Maori were to give a performance - one of the very few times the Government approved any Maori participation outside the Rotorua reception.

The idea was enthusiastically taken up by both the Government and the Petone Council, and plans soon grew more ambitious. Schools from the Hutt Valley were encouraged to bring their pupils to the pageant rather than the demonstration at Parliament, as transport would be easier. Water and athletic sports were organised. Seaside streets were closed so that the Petone Council could build a temporary pier and a three-sided stadium with seating for 7,000 people facing the beach. There was a model Maori pa in the middle, and a dais beside it for the Prince. Bands were hired and a choir of 3,000 school children began practising patriotic songs.

Petone beach faces south, and an autumn southerly would have forced nearly all of it to be cancelled, but it was not the weather that caused the problems. The sports began and stalls opened at 11 a.m., but few people were there then. Most were across the harbour hoping for a glimpse of the Prince at Parliament, or at the Athletic Park rugby game, or travelling in-between. As the time of the Prince's arrival approached, however, the beach began to get crowded, but the stadium remained only half-full, as most reasoned they could see what was happening from the beach, without a ticket. Those in the stadium, however, were growing anxious because they could not see over the heads of the children's choir and the large group of specially invited guests who gathered around the Prince's dais.

The confusion grew as the Prince arrived by boat from the city and was rowed ashore. The beach crowd pushed their way into the stadium to get a closer look. Poor Britannia's long train was ripped off by the trampling feet and she had to abandon her careful pose. By now the pageant was underway. The canoes landed safely, but there was some delay before Captain Cook appeared. According to Mountbatten, that was because the Cook impersonator had become 'so overjoyed at the prospect of landing for a second time' that he 'celebrated ... at a local pub rather too well,' and had to be replaced. 45 When Cook and his party did arrive, the beach was so crowded they had to disembark on the pier. Most people could not see anything, and this slow-moving history lesson was simply too boring for many. The police tried to clear a space for the participants, but it was no use. The crowd just wanted to see the Prince, and the rest of the pageant was abandoned.

A grainy, silent newsreel shows the scene. It has no internal title and must puzzle anyone who does not know what is happening. The Prince stands on his dais waving uncertainly as a boisterous and oddly-dressed crowd press around him - prosperous-looking citizens, excited school children, bare-chested Maori clutching taiaha (spears), and a very odd mixture of historical fancy dress. 46

What little public dissent there was came from within the Labour movement. In the national elections the previous year almost a quarter of the electorate had voted for the socialism of the new Labour Party, a horrifying development to conservative newspaper editors and the Reform Party. For many Labour leaders the tour seemed a gross waste of money and propaganda for militarism. In Wellington, the new Wellington Central MP and city councillor Peter Fraser, future Labour Prime Minister, refused to sign his council's illuminated address. He was, predictably, attacked for that in the Free Lance and Evening Post, and he responded with typical verve:

I am always ready to extend whatever hospitality I can command to anyone, he he prince or ploughman, and that I trust the Prince of Wales has a regular good time during his visit, and is not overpestered by sycophants and title hunters, and by retailers of exaggerated and extravagant adulation, which can only be described as stupid, and which must prove nauseous to a young man who seems to be of modest disposition. 47

The Maoriland Worker, meanwhile, mocked those who 'grovel with one accord at the chariot wheels of a decadent royalty, a royalty with its teeth drawn, led around like a dancing bear at a fair', and suggested that 'the motto of our "Digger Prince" should be "I serve no useful purpose".' 48 Further south, the Christchurch

Labour Representation Committee issued a manifesto calling for 'all class-conscious workers and all lovers of social justice' not to take part in any official welcomes. 49

But, with the tour underway, the mood of the country was against them and the right-wing press used the opportunity to attack once again the Labour leadership as disloyal malcontents. The Free Lance cover cartoon is one example. A happy 'loyal citizen' tells a scruffy anti-tour Labour activist that: 'You'll never put out a blaze like this. Hooray for the Prince!' 50 The excitement on the streets of Wellington suggests he was right.

The 1920 royal visit has long faded from popular memory. That is to be expected. More surprising is the way it has eluded the attention of New Zealand historians. It was a very significant political event, and the ceremonies and rhetoric surrounding it reveal a great deal about New Zealand at the beginning of the interwar years.

There are glimmerings of a new national consciousness, seen by some such as Keith Sinclair 51 , in, for example, the new interest in settler history, the proud references to New Zealand's war effort, and the self-confidence of returned soldiers everywhere the Prince went. '[T]hey are delightfully national and democratic,' the Prince told Freda in one of his good moods, '& they always call me "Digger" which is the highest compliment they can give me!!' 52

More dominant, though, was the celebration of Britain, monarchy and the Empire. It was everywhere - in the patriotic songs, seas of waving Union Jacks, loyal addresses, pro-imperial speeches and editorials, and in the fervour that swamped Petone's historical pageant. That loyalty certainly impressed the Prince. His 'Digger' comment was prefaced with another: 'the people here are so intensely English more than the Canadians in some ways & certainly more than the Australians! They are amazingly respectful to the "P. of W.'" 53 There is much here to support the 'recolonisation' arguments of James Belich. 54

The imperial excitement was, of course, actively encouraged by those organising the tour. This was a carefully arranged propaganda exercise, very well resourced by the British and New Zealand governments. As far as Prime Minister Lloyd George and the Colonial Office were concerned, there was always less at stake with the New Zealand visit than with the Canadian and Australian tours. But the success of the New Zealand tour was still important. It would consolidate popular support for the Empire, strengthen Massey politically, and help marginalise those very different ideologues in the new Labour Party. Afterwards, Grigg was very pleased with his efforts: The receptions in Wellington, Christchurch and Dunedin,' he happily reported, 'were even more overwhelming than in any part of Canada. ... The visit has proved more successful than the most sanguine could

have expected.' 55

There were other tours in the Empire's final decades that were similarly successful. Large crowds had welcomed the Prince's father in 1901. Two of his brothers visited in 1927 and 1934. Unfortunately, Prime Minister Peter Fraser, much less radical now, did not get his chance to welcome royalty when George VI was too ill to visit in 1948. Five years later came the grandest tour of all, the first visit of Queen Elizabeth II - but by then the Empire was fading away, and royal tours since have been shadows of what they used to be.

Even the excitement of 1953-54, however, did not quite match that of the royal visit of 1920. The sheer exuberance of the New Zealand crowds surpassed anything before or since. It was a time for forgetting as well as commemorating. Sombre acknowledgements of sacrifice dominated the official programme, but after the gloom of the war years and the anxieties of the influenza epidemic, this was also an unprecedented civic celebration. There were crowds, music, lights, public performances, and the opportunity to actually see the world-famous soldier prince. Most had only seen him in black-and-white photographs, or perhaps on a flickering, silent newsreel. Now, the very lucky had a chance to hear his voice, possibly even dance with him - or at least get to shake that limp left hand.

ENDNOTES 1 Wellingtonians began using the term 'Empire City' after the city secured the Panama mail and passenger service in 1866. It proved popular, to locals at least, and was still being used in the 19205. See Redmer Yska, Wellington: Biography of a City (Auckland: Reed, 2006), pp. 35, 51, 210. 2 For a brief survey of biographical writing about the Prince see David Cannadine, History in Our Time (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998), pp. 48-58. For a discussion of his royal abilities see Philip Ziegler, 'Edward VIII: The Modern Monarch.' Court Historian 8, no. 1 (2003): 73-83. For a recent, sympathetic view see A. N. Wilson, After the Victorians, 1901-1953 (London: Hutchinson, 2005), pp. 334-48.

3 Rupert Godfrey (ed.), Letters from a Prince (London: Little, Brown, 1998). Godfrey's book includes extensive extracts from the Prince's New Zealand letters. However, much was left out and there are some inaccuracies. The original letters were recently acquired by the Alexander Turnbull Library (ATL). All quotations in this article from the letters are from the originals, not from Godfrey. Freda Dudley Ward letters from the Prince of Wales, 1920. MS-Papers-8780, ATL. 4 26 July 1918. Quoted in G. H. Scholefield, Visit of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales to the Dominion of New Zealand, April-May 1920 (Wellington: Government Printer, 1926), p. iii. 5 For a biographical note on Grigg see K. Rose, 'Grigg, Edward William Madeay, First Baron Altrincham'. Oxford Dictionary of National Biography online edition http://www.oxforddnb.com. For an example of his 'new Empire' thinking see Edward Grigg, The Greatest Experiment in History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1924). 6 Edward Grigg to Lord Milner, 1 August 1918, 1919 correspondence folder, Edward Grigg papers (microfilm), Bodleian Library.

7 Leo Amery to Lord Milner, 20 January 1920, F 39/2/3, Lloyd George papers. Parliamentary Archives. 8 Lloyd George to Lord Stamfordham, 22 January 1920, F 29/4/2, Parliamentary Archives; A. J. P. Taylor (ed.), Lloyd George: A Diary by Frances Stevenson (London: Hutchinson, 1971), pp. 198-99.

9 For a summary of Liverpool's term in office see Gavin McLean, The Governors: New Zealand's Governors and Governors-General (Dunedin: OUP, 2006), pp. 172-82. McLean comments that Liverpool 'probably did his best by his own lights, but it must be confessed they burned rather dimly.' 10 Correspondence between Secretary of State and Liverpool, January-March 1920, G4B 23 P/12, Archives NZ (ANZ) 11 Ibid. 12 Secretary of State to Liverpool, 12 January 1920, G4B 23 P/21, ANZ. 13 Grigg to Lord Stamfordham, 25 May 1920, EVIIIPW/PS/VISOV/1920/AUS, Royal Archives. Material from the Royal Archives is reproduced with the permission of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 11. 14 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 25-26 April 1920, MS-Papers-8780-1-2, ATL. All quotes retain the Prince's idiosyncratic spelling and grammar, without use of the standard [s/c], which would overburden the text. He consistently misplaced his apostrophes, as in 'was'nt', for example.

15 Philip Ziegler, King Edward VIII (London: Fontana, 1991), pp. 128-32. 16 Dominion, 4 May 1920, p. 8. The key sources for the Wellington details here come from the daily coverage in the Dominion and the Evening Post for April and May 1920, as well as from the weekly New Zealand Free Lance, and Scholefield's official history of the tour. 17 Evening Post, 5 May 1920, p. 5. 18 Philip Ziegler (ed.), The Diaries of Lord Louis Mountbatten, 1920-1922: Tours with the Prince of Wales, (London: Collins, 1987), p. 47. 19 Grey River Argus, 11 May 1920, p. 3. 20 Lionel Halsey to Sir Frederick and Lady Halsey, 14 June 1920, Micro-MS-0099, ATL (originals in the Hertfordshire Record Office). 21 Grey River Argus, 11 May 1920, p. 3.

22 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 3-9 May 1920, MS-Papers-8780-1-4, ATL. 23 Evening Post, 1 May 1920, p. 7. 24 Secretary of State to Liverpool, 28 January 1920, G 48, 23 P/21, ANZ, and related correspondence. 25 The figure 20,000 is the author's conservative estimate, extracted from the descriptions of official functions in Scholefield, op cit.

26 Memo to District Headquarters, 10 May 1920, AD 1, 1104, 42/126, ANZ. 27 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 3-9 May 1920, op cit. 28 The Diaries of Lord Louis Mountbatten, p. 47. 29 Memo to District Headquarters, 10 May 1920, AD 1, 42.126, ANZ. 30 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 3-9 May 1920, op cit. 31 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 3-9 May 1920, op cit., MS-Papers-8780-2-1, ATL. 32 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 27 April-2 May, MS-Papers-8780-1-3, ATL. 33 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 3-9 May 1920, op cit. 34 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 25-26 April 1920, op cit. 35 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 3-9 May 1920, op cit. 36 Ibid. He did indeed tell his father of Liverpool's failings: 'H. E. is a pompous interfering ass who has been dogging not only my own footsteps but also never leaves the Admiral or Grigg alone. He rubs every body up the wrong way not only Mr Massey but all his ministers & is most unpopular throughout the Dominion.' Prince of Wales to George V, 9 May 1920, EDW/PRIV/MAIN/A/2280, Royal Archives.

37 Liverpool to Pall Mall, 27 January 1920, G 48, 23 P/23, ANZ; Menu, Earl of Liverpool scrapbook. NZ & Pacific Collection, ATL 38 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 3-9 May 1920, op cit. 39 This and subsequent quotes from the speeches by Massey are from Scholefield, op cit, pp. 105-7. 40 Evening Post, 7 May 1920, p. 7. 41 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 3-9 May 1920, op cit. 42 The Prince's major speeches from his Empire tours are included in Speeches by H.R.H the Prince of Wales, 1912-1926 (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1928). 43 Visit of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales to the Dominion of New Zealand, pp. 108-10.

44 This section is drawn mainly from reports of preparations and the pageant in the Dominion, Evening Post, and Scholefield's official history. Also useful were correspondence file, August-September 1920, Arch 3204/2-18A, Minute book, 13 April 1920, Hutt Archives; Evening Post, 8 January 1972. 45 The Diaries of Lord Louis Mountbatten, p. 48. 46 'Prince of Wales Visit, 1920', F 4097, New Zealand Film Archive. 47 Dominion, 10 May 1920. 48 Maoriland Worker, 26 May 1920. 49 Grey River Argus, 4 May 1920, p. 3. 50 New Zealand Free Lance, 12 May 1920. 51 For example, see Keith Sinclair, A Destiny Apart: New Zealand's Search for National Identity (Wellington: Allen & Unwin, 1986), especially chapters 6, 7 and 11. 52 Letter to Freda Dudley Ward, 25-26 April 1920, op cit. 53 Ibid. 54 James Belich, Paradise Reforge: A History of the New Zealanders from the 1880 s to the Year 2000 (Auckland: Allen Lane/Penguin, 2001), see especially chapters 2 and 3. 55 Grigg to Lord Stamfordham, 25 May 1920, EVIIIPW/PS/VISOV/1920/AUS, Royal Archives.